


How Grizzop Got His Bow (Or Conversations Between A Goblin And His Goddess)

by butterflymind



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Bullying, Gen, Goddesses, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 01:04:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18305018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflymind/pseuds/butterflymind
Summary: Artemis has many aspects, and many responsibilities. Grizzop grows up, and learns to live with some of them.





	How Grizzop Got His Bow (Or Conversations Between A Goblin And His Goddess)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [springgay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/springgay/gifts).



**1\. Childbirth**

 

“What is it?”

The first sound Grizzop heard after the endless rushing of water was shrill and curious. He opened his eyes a slit, resisting the urge to blink in the sudden brightness of the sun. Faces were peering down at him, large and pale, and he shut his eyes again doing his best to appear lifeless. The second his eyes were closed however, he plunged back into the dizziness of his tumble through the water, made all the worse by his rational body telling him that it was still, a nauseating dissonance between sense and sense memory. He could tell from the wetness at his back that he lay in a pool, probably at the outlet of the pipe he had found his way down. Despite the dizziness he fought against opening his eyes again, but even as he did so they flew open without his volition when something sharp poked him in the side.

“Oh!” The child holding the stick gave a surprised cry when a pair of glowing red eyes stared back at her. Grizzop saw her face for a second, before it was yanked backwards out of his vision, and another voice spoke.

“We do not poke people with sticks.” This voice had the stern reproving tones of a parent, achingly familiar to Grizzop. An hour ago, not much more, he had been hearing them in his own home, under the flickering torchlight that brought more comfort than the harsh brightness of the sun. He felt the hot prickling of tears behind his eyes, and squeezed them shut to stop them escaping. He was shocked, and bruised, and could not really know anything for certain. But he knew by some instinct that they were all gone. He felt hands moving over him, larger and more competent than the human child with the stick. He should have fought, but he was a frightened child and his fight was gone. The huge hands felt gently along his limbs and the man, a human man, muttered to himself as he searched. Eventually he spoke to Grizzop directly.

“I know you’re awake.” Grizzop reluctantly looked up at him. His dealings with humans, with almost any other species, were practically non-existent. A goblin child was warned what to expect of other species in the cradle, and nothing Grizzop had seen today had made him doubt the truth of what he had been told. The man though, was looking at him consideringly but not unkindly. “If you need a safe place we can take you to one.” Grizzop had picked up a little Dutch listening to the world above his home, but in his current state this sentence was beyond him. He was wet, and he was cold, and more miserable than he could have ever imagined. Clearly this human man could take a goblin child where he wanted and do as he liked no matter what Grizzop thought about it. All he actually wanted was his family, and his home, and that was all gone now. The tears began to escape in great racking sobs he could do nothing to restrain or control. The human man did not say another word, but gathered him up in his arms and carried him cradled against his chest and Grizzop shut his eyes against the tears, the world outside, and whatever was happening next. The man’s chest was colder than Grizzop expected, he had always thought of humans as warm-blooded creatures. Reaching out a hand he realised what he was touching was cool metal, an armour plate that covered his chest. His fingers found a raised design, and his hands traced the shape of it as the man carried him away from the pipe. It was somehow warmer than the rest of the metal, and through his despair a glimmer of comfort came to Grizzop, a seed of something warm in the back of his mind. His fingers continued to follow the raised edge of the design, his tiny hands barely wider than the width of the lines, as he was carried away.

 

**2\. Wild Animals**

 

The temple was an austere playground, and in many ways hardly the place for children. And yet, children there were, because Artemis protected the pack and the pack only prospered when it guarded the weak.

Grizzop had never thought of himself as weak, was firmly intending to never need to think of himself as weak, but there was undeniable truth in the fact that a goblin child, just shy of two foot tall, surrounded by the children of races who were older, and taller, was at a certain strategic disadvantage. However, he did have weapons in his arsenal, and he knew how to use them. He scrabbled with his hands against the stone wall he was backed up against, looking for purchase. Beside him the boy he had fought for, the original target of the other children’s anger, was backed against the same wall and staring at Grizzop with wide terrified eyes. He was bigger than Grizzop, everyone was bigger than Grizzop, but he was younger in mind if not in years. He was also very much unsuited to the rough and tumble of life in the temple compound. Even now, backed against cold wet stone, he was ducking his head down and half submitting while Grizzop stared back at the gathered crowd, teeth bared and red eyes flashing.

“Nope.” he declared, and then he grasped the first handhold he had been groping for and set off up the wall. The bravest of them might try to follow him, but Grizzop knew that none of them could climb as fast as he could. He looked back and saw with alarm that the boy was trying the same trick, making slow and laborious progress as the crowd jeered. Grizzop’s plan, half thought out at best, had been to reach the top and lead the crowd away, taunt them into chasing him while he leapt across the compound walks and rooftops. He had not accounted for the boy following him, of making himself an even weaker and more attractive target. He looked up, then down again, as the first of the crowd began to reach up to tug at the boy’s clothes, laughing as he struggled to keep his grip. Grizzop looked up, made a snap decision, and scrambled the rest of the way up the wall, throwing himself over the top and directly into the path of the cleric he had seen coming along the walkway.

“What do you think you are doing?” The cleric began, but Grizzop ignored her, and instead used all the weight in his tiny frame to drag the woman over to the wall edge. She looked down.

“Oi!” She yelled, Grizzop’s transgressions forgotten. The jeering crowd fell silent at a stroke, taunting expressions turned to looks of childish terror. The boy, in a burst of adrenaline that seemed to shock him most of all, put on a burst of speed and hauled himself up the rest of the wall, landing next to Grizzop in a crumpled heap of heavy breathing and leaking tears.

“Thanks.” He gasped out. Grizzop cast an eye over him then looked back over the wall to the courtyard below. Other members of the temple, attracted by the cleric’s shouting, were surrounding the remaining children and herding them firmly away. The cleric who had first spotted them was now leaning over the pale boy, telling him kindly but firmly to get up and stop crying. She barely spared a glance for Grizzop, who was obviously fine. Not that Grizzop minded, if she had looked more carefully she might have noticed that he was leaning uncharacteristically on the stone wall for support. Despite a less than arduous climb, his head felt suddenly light, filled with a curious warm sensation he couldn’t quite place. It felt like something he remembered from long ago, from before the flood and the temple, that lived in the haze of memories he kept completely to himself. His senses told him there was a hand on his shoulder, warm and approving, even though he knew there was nothing but cold stone at his back. He basked in the feeling for a moment, then looked up to realise he had caught the cleric’s attention again. She had a strange expression on her face, the quirk of a half smile as she looked at him. He gave her a smile in return but bared his needle sharp teeth just a little, in a way he knew other races found disconcerting. The cleric seemed unperturbed but took the hint and turned away, leaving Grizzop to bask in the fading remnants of the warmth of an impossible hand.

 

3\. The Bow

 

There were always paladins around the temple. The passed through to rest, or stayed to carry out assignments on behalf of the High Priestess. They came in all shapes and sizes, from orcs to halflings, but there weren’t goblins among them as far as Grizzop could see. He wasn’t particularly surprised by that, his trips out into the city had taught him quickly that any respect he was shown was afforded to the symbol he wore on a chain around his neck, and not to him. It might have made some people resent the symbol he supposed, but instead he chose to have pride in the power of belonging. The opinions of people who were so obviously wrong could hardly matter when compared with that. The thought kindled the spark of warmth in the back of his head. It had grown stronger in the past year, a presence who was always at his back, guarding his flank. This, Grizzop knew for certain, was what people meant when they said holy.

Which is why he was exactly where he had been expressly forbidden to be, doing what he had been told not to do. The armoury was off limits, that had been explained several times to an always attentive Grizzop, who nodded and agreed and fully understood why there were rules about such things. But he had seen a halfling paladin coming through the gates last night, and that meant that there would be halfling weapons in the armoury at this very moment. Halflings were one of the few races Grizzop considered to be a sensible size, and their armour and weapons were a size Grizzop could see himself wearing one day. He could wield a halfling sword and draw a halfling bow just as he was, no need to wait to grow taller and stronger when no one was entirely sure if that would even happen.

He found the weapons easily enough, they were hung in one corner, freshly cleaned and cared for. The short sword glowed brightly in the shafts of sunlight that entered the room from the high narrow windows, points of light that winked at Grizzop as he approached it. He reached it down from the rack where it hung, and grasped it lightly in two hands. He could already feel it humming gently, the metal far warmer in his hands than it had any right to be with only the weak shafts of sunlight to heat it. He closed his eyes and felt for the warmth, first in the sword and then in himself, and after a moment it happened, the warm rushing glow like light spilling out of an opened door. The approval and love washed over him and he sighed, opening his eyes and replacing the sword. He knew from experience that the sword would cause this effect, but that the bow would magnify it, so much so that he had learned that it was easier to pick up another paladin weapon first, just to ease himself into the rush. He took down the bow and stood in the ready stance he had copied from the archers he watched from the window when he should be concentrating on his lessons. Artemis believed in drills, in training, and Grizzop itched to join in the movements even when he should have been paying more attention to the lore of his cult. As soon as his fingers touched the bowstring, even without an arrow nocked, he felt the almost physical presence close at his back, an arm that lay along his where it held the bow.

“Hello.” He breathed into the empty air, eyes closed tight to make the presence more intense. He could feel a wash of something almost like amusement, and was sinking back into the feeling when it was shattered.

“Hello.” This was not the voice of the presence. When Grizzop opened his eyes he found himself staring into the face of a halfling paladin who was very much not amused. Grizzop let go of the bowstring, but had the presence of mind to keep his grip on the bow itself.

“Hello.” He replied, if his voice was a little higher than usual, how was the paladin to know?

“What are you doing?” The paladin sounded calm, dangerously so. Grizzop had few dealings with paladins, other than the man who had rescued him on that first day so long ago, but he knew that a calm paladin was no less dangerous than an angry one.

“I was practising.” Grizzop replied. His usual tactic in this situation was to tell just enough truth to be believed. The paladin for her part widened her eyes slightly at this, and then to Grizzop’s immense surprise, gave a short bark of laughter.

“Of course you were.” She said, holding her hand out for the bow. Grizzop tried not to be reluctant when he handed it over. “And does the temple not supply you with practise bows of your own?”

“No.” ‘Not yet’ Grizzop added mentally. And even when he was finally allowed to get his hands on one, it would not be as good as a paladins. The practise bows did not evoke the warmth the way the paladin weapons did, he had already tried that.

“I’m sure they do.” The paladin looked at him critically. “But maybe you are a little young for the practise ranges yet?”

“I’m old enough.” Grizzop said indignantly, pulling himself up to his full height. This was a more effective tactic in the presence of a halfling than it was with many other races, but she still had almost half a head of height on him.

“Artemis save us from the impatience of Goblins.” The Halfling muttered. “Have you perhaps considered waiting a little longer before diving head first into things you barely understand?”

“Well, I don’t have as long as everyone else, do I.” This was an old hurt for Grizzop, it had existed for as long as he had been old enough to understand it, but that made the wound no less painful when it was touched. To her credit, the paladin just nodded in response.

“And is there any reason you decided my weapons were the best for ‘practising’?” She asked at last.

“They’re the right size.” Grizzop considered for a moment, then went for it. “And I like the warmth.”

“The warmth?” For the first time the paladin seemed to be properly scrutinising him. Grizzop was unsure if this had been a wise path to go down, but he was on it now.

“They feel warm.” She raised her eyebrows. “I mean, they make me feel warm.” He shook his head, he was explaining this badly, and he knew it. “A warmth goes through me when I touch them.” He tried again. “It wants to me to touch them. Or, no, not quite. It approves of me using them. It lets me know I’m doing a good thing. Do you know what I mean?” He finished, a little desperately. The paladin was still watching him steadily. After a long moment she put her hand to the quiver on her back. She held the bow downwards as she nocked the arrow and then pointed it up towards the stone ceiling, well away from Grizzop. She concentrated for a moment, the expression on her face similar to the one Grizzop was sure he was making a few minutes earlier. The tip of the arrow glowed, and then erupted in a blue-white fire. Grizzop locked all of his muscles to prevent himself taking a step backwards in surprise, and the paladin turned to look at him, arrow still nocked.

“I know what you mean.” She replied. The arrow’s light faded and she dropped it to the floor, releasing the tension on the bowstring and allowing the bow to hang loosely from her hand again. Grizzop knew his eyes were wide and he was staring at the paladin. He couldn’t do anything about it. He’d heard of holy fire, of course he had, but he’d never seen it.

“Can I...” He began. The paladin laughed.

“Maybe. When you’re older.” She looked him up and down. “And hopefully a bit bigger.” She had unclipped a bag from her belt and was rummaging around in it. Grizzop realised it must be a bag of holding, although he had never seen one of those either. He watched, fascinated by the odd illusion of her hand passing into a small cloth bag, but never seeming to actually be inside it. Eventually she found what she was looking for. She pulled out a bow, smaller than the one she had taken back from Grizzop, and simpler, but finer than anything he had seen at the practise ranges. “Take it.” She said, handing it over. As Grizzop closed his hand around it he could feel a tingle in his fingers, not quite the rush of warmth he had felt holding the paladin’s weapons, but a memory of it.

“Really?” He asked, examining the bow. It was nothing special really, not when you looked at it. But it might be his.

“Sure. I don’t use it. It’s not a patch on this one.” She swung the bow in her hand up to her shoulder. “Not even sure why I was carrying it around really.”

“Thank you.” Grizzop said sincerely. He was already planning where he would hide it, when he would use it, how he would sneak arrows from the practise range.

“Practise.” The paladin said, picking up her sword and checking it over critically before stowing it away in the scabbard strapped across her back and turning to leave. “I’ll see you around.”

 

**4\. Chastity**

 

When Grizzop had begun his paladin training, he had imagined a solemn process, years of dedicated learning fitting those who were worthy with the skills they needed to carry out the sacred duties of a paladin of Artemis. He had imagined rising with the dawn and training with his weapons, learning how to call on his Goddess for healing magic, how to detect and smite the evil he knew was everywhere in the world. To be fair to the process there was a good deal of that, although it was questionable how much of it was required and how much Grizzop required of himself. One of his tutors had called him a ‘self-directed learner’ and although she had said it with approval in her voice, Grizzop couldn’t help but feel that he was somehow being teased. Artemis required of her paladins what was necessary to get the job done, but he and the others seemed to sometimes have differing opinions on exactly how much that was. At the moment, he was certain, the job would be much better done if there was less giggling and more concentrating on what they were trying to learn.

“Your Goddess stands for chastity in all things.” Said the cleric for the third, or possibly fourth, time.

“Bet you wish they’d told you that earlier.” Said one of the men to another at the back, nudging him hard in the ribs. The man yelped, and the cleric looked up at them from his teaching notes. Grizzop had rather got the feeling that he was endeavouring to teach this lesson not to the class in front of him, but rather despite it.

“Gregor, please.” The cleric said in a weary voice. Gregor, who had been the one nudged by his friend, glared back mutinously.

“Does that mean we have to be celibate?” Asked a worried voice at the front. Another few giggles broke out at this, but they were outnumbered by the number of concerned faces suddenly turned in the cleric’s direction.

“Not necessarily.” He began slowly, then held up his hand to quell the onrush of noise that came at this pronouncement. “But you should consider carefully your actions in light of what Artemis would want you to do.” Grizzop, who had been considering his actions in that light for years now, lost the small amount of patience he was capable of mustering.

“Right, don’t bang anyone Artemis doesn’t approve of. Got it. Can we move on?” The gale of laughter that met this pronouncement was much louder than the giggling that had gone before. Grizzop, who had not meant it to be funny, instinctively sank lower in his chair.

“It is a little more complicated than that.” The cleric attempted, before realising that he had no chance of being heard above the noise in the room. He sighed, then mimicked the action of sounding a horn. A loud, blaring sound cut across the din and it fell silent. The clerics who taught seemed to prepare at least one of those a day. “Good. We shall move on then.” He gave Grizzop a little nod as he said this, and Grizzop genuinely could not tell if it was in thanks or admonishment. “All I will say to you is this, remember this as one of the most important lessons of your church. Chastity in all things if you wish to please your Goddess.”

Later, when Grizzop was receiving the first armour he would wear for Artemis, it was somehow that lesson that came back to him. He looked critically at the half plate he had been given, smaller than the others, but still just as obviously made for a halfling and not a goblin. It was plain, chaste, with just a raised design of the symbol of Artemis in one exposed area of metal. His fingers twitched, another sense memory he could hardly place stirring in his head. Around him he could hear the other paladins in training, comparing their newly acquired armour, examining decoration and despairing over marks and scuffs from previous owners. Grizzop slipped his own on carefully, tightening it as it would be worn to be used, and testing his ability to move, to jump, and to reach the quiver on his back. Finally he closed his eyes and stood still, reaching back to the warmth in his head as he had learned, and then been taught, to do.

‘Will this do?’ He thought in her presence. ‘Can I do your work in this?’ The feeling that came back was the approving rush he always hoped for, a sense of right and moral certainty that he relied on more and more as time went on. As the feeling washed over him it stirred up memories of lessons in a dusty classroom, of the idea of chastity in all things.

 

**5\. The Moon**

 

Healing had not come as easily to Grizzop as the training to fight for his Goddess. He knew that some people had regarded this as the consequence of his goblin nature, that no creature of such darkness could ever be a true healer. Grizzop knew that they were partly right, but for the wrong reasons. There was no reason a goblin couldn’t be a healer, no dark and mystical power kept healing energy from flowing through a goblin as well as it did for any creature. But healing was a slower art to learn, and as Grizzop got older he became more aware of the ticking clock in his head counting down faster for him and his good works than for any other paladin in training. Goblin impatience, not goblin evil, made him less adept at healing a wound than he was at causing one.

None of that was helping the woman in front of him. It was rare for there to be violence so close to the temple compound but tonight a bar brawl had spilled out onto the streets, and lit the fuse on larger tensions that had been simmering under the city for weeks. That in turn had started a fire that had driven more people out of the houses and pubs, and the next thing he knew he and the other trainees had been called from their beds to help with the healing of those who had staggered inside the temple precinct, the paladins and clerics who would usually have handled such things being out on the streets trying to restore order. Grizzop had been assigned to this woman by a harassed looking cleric who had barely spared him a second glance.

He looked down at her, checking her for injuries as he had been shown. What ailed her was relatively obvious, an untidy knife wound slashed across her arm and half her chest. He staunched the bleeding as best he could, and then shut his eyes and called for his Goddess. The woman was gravely injured, he knew that, there was so much more blood on the floor where she lay than could be left in her body. He felt for the warmth, but instead got a rush of silvery light behind his eyelids, the smell of a night-time forest stirring around him. He looked down and saw the healing light leave his hands, watched as the blood flow from the woman’s wounds began to slow. He felt for a second a rush of satisfaction and approval, but it quickly turned to dust when he realised the woman was still bleeding. He had done a little, but not enough. As he thought it one of the trainee clerics appeared at his shoulder and looked over the woman. She nodded and performed her own healing, more successfully, while Grizzop stared at his hands. When she had finished the cleric pushed past him without a word, intent on getting the woman to somewhere she could rest her her newly healed wounds. After a minute or so Grizzop realised that in his absorption he had missed the closing of the doors, the last of the casualties under the care of more competent healers. He looked around for something he could do, and when he found nothing, he jogged as quickly as he dared up the main stairs and out of the building, along the walkways that topped the walls of the courtyard.

He looked over to the city side of the walls, but all seemed to be quietening, and he could see a steady stream of paladins and clerics, looking scuffed and tired, making their way back through the gates. Jogging round to the other side of the building Grizzop could see the small plot of land the temple of Artemis kept, the beds for growing vegetables and raising a small number of pigs and chickens. Beyond it was a copse of trees, where Grizzop had spent many a summer’s day shooting arrows until the clerics caught him at it. It wasn’t quite a forest, but it would probably do. He slipped through a side door and down a rough hewn wooden staircase that led to a door in the bottom of the wall. He followed the gravel path from the door through the vegetable garden, sliding into the shadows to avoid being seen by anyone standing on the walls. It wasn’t strictly speaking against the rules to leave the building after dark, but Grizzop had enough of a reputation he would prefer not to add to it by tales of his dark doings in the woods on moonlight nights. Once he reached the trees though his previous determination failed him, and he sank down against the trunk of a large elm, looking up through the branches at the glimpses of moonlight.

“What was that then?” He asked the air. It wasn’t the first time he had asked her a question directly, or even spoken to her out loud, but it was the first one who’s answer could not just be a general feeling of approval. He was not surprised when no answer was forthcoming. He scratched his hands in the soil and leaf litter at his sides, remembering the feeling of that silvery light.

“I mean, I don’t mind you changing up the aesthetics on me, your prerogative and all, but a little warning might be nice.” Again he was met with silence. The wind gently rustled the leaves above him, but if that was Artemis giving him a subtle hint, she was going to have to be more obvious. Grizzop sighed, and asked the question he really wanted answered.

“Why couldn’t I heal her enough? You were there, I could feel you. Why was I not enough? Have I not done enough to please you?” This time there was a response. The wind gusted harder in the trees, but that may just have been coincidental to the feeling of discontentment that washed over Grizzop.

“Not that then. Is it nothing to do with me? Do you have your own reasons for what happened? It’s not me, it’s you?” He smiled a little after the last. The discontentment ebbed, but still he felt a faint annoyance, like a fly buzzing near his ear. He had a horrible feeling that in this scenario, he was the fly.

“Look, I don’t know what else I can do. I don’t know why you feel like moonlight now. All I know is I need to be able to help people if you want me to do your work, and everything I’ve seen so far suggests that’s the one thing you really want me to do.” There was a silence, or at least an absence of feelings that Grizzop interpreted as silence. Then slowly the warmth returned to the back of his head, but tempered with the feeling of a forest on a moonlight night. He felt all at once like the pursuer, and the pursued. He tasted the new feeling, felt out the edges of it. It was larger somehow than what had been there before, as if he was seeing more of his Goddess than he had previously, aspects and facets of her nature he had not appreciated before.

“What should I do?” He asked straight out, but more softly than he had before. The feeling that returned to him was a comfort, but tinged with a message he couldn’t even say how he understood. ‘Do better.’ It said. ‘Try harder.’

“I can work with that.” Grizzop said to the empty air. One final message returned to him, feeling like the rush of warm approval he had first known. ‘Good. So can I.’

 

**6\. The Hunt**

 

Sometimes, Grizzop tried to remember the room before this room. He could remember the general shape of it, of what it had been like to live with his clutch underground, but now little details escaped from him when he tried to grasp on to them too tightly. He’d spent so long in this room, this tiny bare-walled cell that was the replica of twenty others on either side of it, that it was the first thing that came into his head when he thought of home. He spent a few more moments lying on his back on the bed, counting the familiar cracks in the plasterwork ceiling, before he sprung up and went back to packing.

The wooden cabinet beside his bed that contained nearly all of his worldly possessions was emptied, but he opened the drawers all the way out just to check. Soon this would be someone else's room, although he would always be welcome back at the temple he did not live here any more, and there was not the space to keep his room open just in case he came back. He found a glass marble that had wedged in the gap where the drawer bottom and back were coming apart. He fished it out, and then banged the drawer back together for good measure. He tossed the marble from hand to hand, dropped it towards his bag, and then scooped it back out of the air, deciding instead to leave it on the bedside table. He took one last look around as he shouldered his bag, and then reached behind the bedside cabinet for the last possession he knew he had left behind. The bow looked smaller now than he remembered it being, and it was far poorer quality than the one that waited downstairs for him in the armoury. His new bow was made to fit him, and when he fired it it felt like an extension of his hand. This had never quite fitted right, made for a halfling not a goblin, but still it had taught him all the basics of archery that had served him well. He hung the bow off his arm as he took a last look around and then closed the door of the cell, heading downstairs towards the main hall. He was met by a senior cleric, who looked him over with the same critical eye that Grizzop had been experiencing for most of his life.

“Do you know where you’re going?” She asked without preamble. Grizzop nodded, and fished the written orders he had been given out of his pack to show her the stamps and seals. In return she handed over a small pouch of gold. “Expenses. Make sure you make some account of it, or you won’t be getting more.”

“Of course.” Grizzop said, slightly offended. The cleric nodded.

“Well then, good luck.” The bow caught her eye and she grimaced. “I assume that is not the one you are taking with you?” Grizzop, who had forgotten he was carrying the bow, started and looked down.

“Oh no, this is just… a spare.” He said.

“Well don’t bother taking it with you, it will only take up space. It doesn’t look up to much.” She moved to take it off him but for reasons Grizzop couldn’t quite explain, he shifted the bow away from her.

“Not to worry, I’ll dispose of it on my way out.” He said cheerfully, and made for the door before she had a chance to reply. As he passed through into the armoury he saw his own weapons, hanging in the same position as that halfling paladin’s years ago. He stowed them away, taking a moment to hold his new bow, feel the warmth and silvery moonlight that radiated from it and up his arm, tingling with the promise of work to be done. At the last moment he stopped and hung the bow he had brought down from his room in its place in the armoury. It looked a little incongruous, but Grizzop imagined it would be left alone, hanging on this rack where only the smallest races might stow their weapons. Someone might come here who knew what it meant, after all, and he suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of leaving no message and no mark behind him. He had always prided himself on moving forwards, but maybe sometimes it was a good idea to leave a marker to lead you back just in case you needed it, or to send someone after you if you wanted them to follow.

Satisfied he closed the armoury door behind him and stepped out into the courtyard, just as the sun beams had begun to cross the weathered stone. He made his way towards the gate, nodding to the guards as he went, just another paladin crossing the threshold like he had watched a thousand others do from the courtyard walls. He briefly thought of looking up, seeing if anyone was watching him, but an instinct told him to keep his eyes forward and on the road. He could feel the weight of his pack, the heft of the armour he had trained so long to be able to wear without tiring. His bow was slung across his shoulders, ready when he needed it. And at his back, guarding his flank, was the warmth and silver of his Goddess, approving of him entering the hunt.


End file.
